


Tough Love

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Denial, Drinking, F/M, First Time, Hangover, Matchmaking, Missions, Partying, Porn, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 12:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18282239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "Are you harboring a romantic interest in the captain?" Spock asked from across the mess hall table, eyes trained on her evenly, all-knowing.Theyhadbeen eating lunch. Eating lunch and finally talking and that had somehow led to...this.Michael stared at Spock, completely thrown. "...what?"





	Tough Love

**Author's Note:**

> This was really supposed to be Spock matchmaking...and then it became 35 pages. Idek. I really just like that they have parties. Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1024191.html).

"Are you harboring a romantic interest in the captain?" Spock asked from across the mess hall table, eyes trained on her evenly, all-knowing. 

They _had_ been eating lunch. Eating lunch and finally talking and that had somehow led to...this. 

Michael stared at Spock, completely thrown. "...what?"

Spock took a bite of his vegetable dish, unbothered as ever. "In what few discussions we've had, you've mentioned him a disproportionate number of times. That's indicative of a fixation. I'm simply trying to ascertain what kind."

"But he's...the captain."

"That does not answer my question," Spock pointed out with that unerring habit of exposing every single flaw in an argument. "Also, I have noted that in his presence your breathing accelerates and your pupils dilate."

"Gee, Spock, want to track my heart rate, too?"

"That would be very helpful," he shot back. 

Michael took a sip from her glass, remaining impassive. It was just an intellectual debate after all. "I disagree with the premise of your question. I don't believe I mention the captain more than necessary."

Spock's eyes took her in, like she was giving something away. "Your belief is immaterial; your words speak for themselves."

Michael tilted her head, studying him right back. "Is this an attempt to make me uncomfortable?"

"That's an evasion. And there would be no discomfort if there weren't also some truth to the implication." 

Michael...had nothing to say to that. Because she _was_ uncomfortable, she realized. She just didn't know why. 

Spock eyed her keenly. "Clearly, this is news to you. I'll give you time to consider." With that, Spock stood and walked out, as abrupt and to-the-point as ever. 

Michael exhaled, one long, slow breath, staring down at her salad, alone in the busy room around her. She shook her head at Spock's hypothesis. It was utterly ridiculous. 

...wasn't it?

***

"Do I talk about the captain more frequently than others?" Michael asked Tilly as they got ready for bed, having been unable to shake the observation. But she also didn't trust Spock not to toy with her. She needed an objective observer. 

"What? No. Well..." Tilly said, visibly considering it as she rubbed lotion into her hands. 

"Okay, that was three answers in three words."

"I mean, there was that time when all anyone could talk about was the captain because he was new and hot and we were all trying to figure him out, so of course you were talking about him then."

Michael settled a little. Even Tilly acknowledged this was nothing unusual. "Exactly," she said. 

"But ever since we all decided he's our boy, you might have mentioned him once or twice. Or more. A few times. Several?" Tilly considered, her impressive mind working it over. Then she turned to study Michael. "Why?" she asked, suspicious now.

"Some ridiculous thing Spock said." Michael moved to get in bed, but Tilly bounded over, sitting on said bed so she couldn't. 

" _What_ did Spock say?"

"Tilly," Michael said, a warning in her voice. 

Tilly was undeterred. "I'm not moving. I'm staying right here until you answer. You'll have to get used to me, like a new pillow. Tell me, how do you feel about cuddling?"

 _Very bad_ , which Tilly well-knew. Michael sighed, giving in. "He said I mention Pike disproportionately and asked if I was interested in him."

Tilly's eyes lit up. "Can I just say, your brother is the best. And also, _really_ hot. Do you know if he's single?"

Michael nodded to her encouragingly: "You should ask him." And leave her love life alone. 

Wait, she didn't have a love life. Why was she thinking about her love life? The one that didn't exist for _very good reason_. 

"So are you?" 

"What?" Michael asked, stalling and she knew it.

"Interested in the captain? I mean, more power to you, you should definitely get a piece of that if you can," Tilly said casually, like it was normal to be talking about having...a _relationship_ with the captain. 

Didn't people understand he was _the captain_?

Michael sighed. "I am not getting a piece of anything," she said with some distaste. 

Tilly took that to mean something else, her eyes widening in some kind of realization. "Oh, you _like_ him. And that _bothers_ you."

"Can we please just go to sleep?" Michael asked, looking to where Tilly sat on her bed pointedly. 

Tilly stood and moved back to her own bed, quiet. Too quiet. Nothing good came from Tilly beingthat quiet. 

They both got under their covers and turned off the lights, Michael staring out into the darkness, feeling the silence closing in around her, sharp and pointed. Finally, she broke it. "It's not like I'm—"

"Oh, my god, you totally are," Tilly said, like it had been killing her not to say it. 

"He's _the captain_ ," Michael protested; she couldn't be the only one who understood that. 

"So? Captains can have sex. At least, they better be able to or else I'm quitting the Command Training Program tomorrow."

"It's about respect."

"You can very respectfully bang his brains out, I believe in you," Tilly shot back, again, like that was a reasonable thing to say. 

Heat flushed through Michael at that image. She instantly shut it down, despite her body's stirring interest. "I have never even thought about this."

"But you're thinking about it now," Tilly said, voice gone knowing. Michael was grateful for the darkness. Tilly wouldn't be able to see her embarrassment. 

She put her disapproval in her voice: "Tilly."

"What? Come on, it's a good thing! Get back up on the horse. No, wait, I think I mixed up my metaphors. Get back up on the bike? Pike would probably appreciate the horse one more." A pause. "And now I'm thinking about him riding his horses, like a cowboy from one of those old westerns, all heroic and sweaty."

Michael's eyes widened; now _she_ was thinking about that. She shifted, bothered. " _Tilly_ ," she said, faintly scandalized. She shouldn't be...ogling their captain. 

"What? You've seen how he fills out his uniform pants. That man is a snack. I mean, totally intimidating in every way, like, too perfect to be real, I'd be worried I'd break one of Starfleet's finest and all...but delicious. You should get some."

Michael frowned. "I don't even know why we're talking about this."

"Because you secretly want to and it's okay to talk about your feelings, especially when your half-Vulcan brother makes you feel all awkward about them."

"I...wasn't awkward." Maybe shocked. 

"Uh-huh," Tilly said, her doubt clear. Then she took a careful breath. "He likes you, too, you know."

Michael went utterly still, heat flushing through her again. "What?"

"The captain. He likes you. I can tell."

"You're just saying that because you want to encourage me."

"I mean, I do want to encourage you, but I'd never, like, _lie_ to do it. He likes you! Of course he likes you. You make each other smile. It's adorbs."

"...Adorbs," Michael said, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice.

"Totally."

Michael breathed out, swallowing, locking all of this away, somewhere deep inside. She didn't...need this right now. "I'm going to sleep," she said, curling onto her side. 

"Think you'll dream about him?" Tilly asked, teasing. 

"Tilly."

Tilly sighed and flopped over. "All right, all right. Shutting up."

***

Michael did not dream about him. Michael did not sleep much at all, staring at the ceiling and replaying every interaction they'd ever had, from saving each other's lives to joining the other in the mess hall for friendly conversations over lunches. Tilly was right; they _did_ make each other smile, gentle teases she hadn't paid much attention to, but that always made her feel...warm. 

Or they had. Now she just felt like a fool. Spock had spotted this instantly. Michael felt exposed, embarrassed. It felt like an intrusion, even though she knew it wasn't; _she_ was putting this out for anyone to see. And she had no idea what to do about it. 

Finally, their alarm rang and lights raised, Tilly bolting upright in bed. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and peered at Michael with fuzzy curiosity. "How's your crush?"

"Does everyone know?" Michael asked as she sat up, hearing the vaguely plaintive note in her voice and clearing her throat. She needed to get control of this. 

Tilly frowned. "Not that I've heard. And let's be real, I would have heard. I mean, they know you respect the captain, but you had a weird thing with Lorca, too, so no one questions it." 

That settled something in Michael, her shoulders untensing. "Good."

Tilly narrowed her eyes at her, figuring it out. She was way too sharp sometimes. "Look, I know Vulcans are all weird about emotions, but love is not weakness. Wanting someone isn't, like, shameful."

Michael stiffened, not wanting to go there. "It is way too early to be talking about this," she said, keeping it light, getting up to dress.

"Okay, but we're talking about it sometime," Tilly said, making it sound like a promise. And Tilly kept her promises. 

***

Of course Michael ended up in the turbolift with Spock. She nodded in greeting and settled next to him, quiet.

"You did not sleep," he offered, not a question. 

"Thank you for that."

"I did not mean to cause turmoil," he said, the Spock version of an apology. Then he added: "I did not expect you to be so out of touch with your own emotions." 

"And thank you for that," she shot back. 

"Why are you troubled by this?" he asked, a hint of curiosity there. 

"A lot has happened since we've seen each other. Not much of it good."

Spock studied her. "Your romantic entanglement with the Klingon Voq, masquerading as Lieutenant Tyler," he surmised, right on the money, as usual, and better informed than she expected. "I fail to see how it applies. The captain is not a Klingon operative."

"You don't say."

"Taking refuge in sarcasm is beneath your superior intellect," he said, short, making her smile. She always did enjoy ticking him off. 

Her smile faded as she considered his comment, figuring out how to explain what she'd spent the night puzzling out. "Everything with Tyler—with Voq—it hurt me. Deeply," she admitted. Though their reconciliation was new, and tentative, she didn't want to hold things back from Spock. She wanted her brother in her life again. 

"You believe the captain will hurt you," Spock surmised, considering. Then he shook his head, once. "It does not follow. They're completely different men. People," he amended. 

"They are," she agreed. "But the experience showed me something new about myself. I...didn't know I could be hurt that badly. I don't care to repeat the experience."

"Eschewing connections out of fear is illogical. If you deny yourself the opportunity for happiness, you will by definition remain unhappy."

Michael smiled, thin. "There's always contentment."

Spock studied her again, a hint of entreaty in his eyes. "Want more for yourself, Michael."

Michael swallowed at that unexpected sentiment, not knowing what to say. Thankfully, the turbolift slowed as it reached the bridge, opening onto...a _scene_. 

Michael felt a traitorous little flutter in her chest at finding Pike, hands on hips, glaring at Leland over the viewscreen. "And just where do you expect to get this intelligence?" he asked, testy.

Michael and Spock took their stations as Leland smirked back at Pike. "Don't worry about it, Chris. We got this."

Michael looked to Tilly, raising an eyebrow. Tilly widened her eyes, a nonverbal _can you believe this_.

"I will not sanction Section 31 torturing anyone for some information. We're Starfleet; we don't do that," Pike said, forceful, principled, fighting for who they were, as he always did. 

Michael swallowed at the respect bubbling within her, but it was deeper than that, too. She understood that now. The way her heart beat, the way she felt...alive. It wasn't just the job, it wasn't just admiration, it was... _more_.

She'd been so blind. 

"Last time I checked, Section 31 didn't need your sanction for a damn thing," Leland shot back, unrepentant. 

Pike turned to Bryce. "Transfer this to my ready room and have the admiral meet us there," he ordered, already striding off the bridge. 

"Aye, Captain."

***

Michael sat on her bed, studying her hands, _Want more for yourself, Michael_ echoing through her mind. She'd have to tell Tilly...things, she realized. It was fine, there was no shame in her history, but she knew it was yet another way that she was...atypical. 

Some days it seemed like the things that made Michael different would never end. There was some exhaustion in that, she knew. But she carried on. It was the only course of action.

Finally, Tilly arrived in a rush, talking before the doors had even closed, kicking off her boots. "Oh, my god, you would not believe what Larani did to one of the spore canisters. I specifically told her—wait, you were waiting. Why were you waiting? Are we talking about it? I was totally gonna give you another day to hide."

Michael smiled, genuinely amused. "I appreciate that. I ran into Spock," she explained. 

"I _love_ that man," Tilly said, vehement. "I really need to find out if he's attached. I would totally marry into your family."

"Trust me, you do not want any part of that."

Tilly cocked her head, a devious glint to her eye. "I can think of one or two parts," she said, dry. 

Michael closed her eyes and held up a hand. "Please, stop making lascivious comments about my brother."

"No fun. But back to you." Tilly made a go-ahead gesture. 

"After thinking about it, I've realized Spock was right. I find I'm...drawn to the captain."

"Noooo," Tilly said, faux-shocked. 

Michael shot her a _look_ , but then she went serious. "I don't know what to do."

"Duh. Make a pass at him," Tilly said, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe, easily accomplished. And there was the rub. 

Michael held her eyes. "I don't know what to do," she repeated. 

"Have you never—" Then she broke off, thinking about it. "No, that makes sense. Look at you. You wouldn't need to hit on guys, they'd beeline right toward you."

Michael swallowed, still uncertain about getting into this, but if they were talking about it... "Fewer than you'd think," she said carefully, hoping that Tilly would use her brilliant mind to...get it. 

Tilly studied her again, understanding settling over her. "Ohhh."

"Indeed."

Tilly opened her mouth to ask something else, then closed it. Then she did it again. 

"Tilly."

"I'm processing." She thought for another moment, then decided on a topic. "It wasn't just Ash, was it?"

Michael's stomach clenched with discomfort, but she didn't let it show through. "No, it wasn't just Ash."

"Good," she said brightly, visibly letting go of her lack of dating experience, flooding Michael with gratitude. "So you don't know what to do. We can fix that."

***

While Tilly did whatever she was doing, Michael had to...adjust. 

It wasn't that anything was different. That was part of the problem. The days went by and things were exactly the same, Michael just saw them in a new light. She noticed when he tossed her a droll look as he walked back to his chair. She noticed the way he looked to her first when he arrived, the way he made space for her in his decisions, the way he leaned toward her and kept eyes steady on her when she offered a suggestion. 

Worse, she noticed _herself_ noticing, her body responding to him without conscious thought. Spock was absolutely right; when she had his attention, her breathing did speed up, heart rate increasing, senses alive and alert. She'd thought it was a normal response to the job. 

And now that she knew better, it got _worse_ , traitorous heat spreading through her, Michael having to shove aside the thoroughly distracting low-level arousal, like her body was waking up and saying, _hello_.

And it _wouldn't go away_. 

If that weren't enough, Michael was pretty sure Pike had noticed. Some of his looks had been measuring, like when she hadn't responded to one of his half-smiles, busy tamping down on the sudden surge of _heat_ in her blood. He was remarkably intuitive about his crew, aware of the subtle shifts in their dynamics. It was probably part of what made him a great captain. 

It was incredibly inconvenient when one was trying to hide something from him. 

Michael shook her head at herself as she walked off the bridge for lunch, searching for the control that used to come so easily. She was slipping too much. 

When she turned, she realized Pike had followed, joining her in the turbolift with a nod. "Lunch?" he asked, light, nothing they hadn't done half a dozen times. 

Michael blinked at him, skin buzzing, aware that if she sat across the table from him, she was going to betray herself somehow. She already felt a flush starting to build. 

So she punted. "Actually, I was going to review some of the red angel data in my quarters. Really focus."

Pike frowned and tilted his head. "Everything okay?"

"Of course, sir. I just feel like I'm missing something."

After a beat, he nodded, but it was reluctant. "Don't work too hard. Burnout is a real thing and besides, sometimes inspiration comes when we're _not_ on the job."

Michael nodded, something in her fluttering at the wise advice, Pike subtly telling her to have her own life and interests apart from the job. 

If he only knew. 

***

"I figured out what we're gonna do. There's a party tonight and you're going," Tilly said brightly, walking into their quarters that evening and tossing something green at her. 

Michael caught it, the silky material flowing through her fingers, shaking out into a strappy, forest green dress that dipped low in front. She looked up at Tilly. "What?"

"You. Party. The captain will be there..." she said, like that was a point in its favor. 

"Do you remember what happened the last time I went to a party?" Michael asked, a vague panic clenching in her chest. She knew she'd have to...try, but she thought she'd have more time to get used to the idea. And that it wouldn't start with the things she hated most. 

Tilly _hmphed_ and waved a dismissive hand. "There's no way we end up in another _Groundhog Day_ scenario. That was a million-to-one."

"Don't tempt fate, Tilly."

But Tilly was having none of it, shaking her head, hands going to her hips. "Just put it on. All you have to do is show up, have a drink, and talk to him. Talk about work if you like."

"We can do that at work."

"But not in a super-hot dress that will make him want to have sex with you."

Michael closed her eyes. She was...not prepared for that. 

When she opened them, Tilly was right in front of her, determined smile in place. "This is one of those times you should just accept defeat now. Trust me."

***

True to Tilly's words, Michael walked into the officer's lounge in the green dress, Tilly glancing back at her every few moments to make sure she was still there. 

She'd make a great officer someday. She had an iron will under all the bright cheer. 

Tilly shoved a shot into her hand with, "Drink," then looked at Michael expectantly. 

Michael took the shot. There, she'd had a drink. She could stay for a few minutes, greet the captain, and have technically done everything Tilly asked. 

Against her will, her eyes scanned the crowd, people talking, laughing, dancing. It was fine, Michael was just checking out the scene; it wasn't like she was consciously looking for him. 

But when her eyes found Pike talking to Nhan at the other end of the bar, they didn't move on. He was in civilian clothes, some kind of dark pants and a button-down shirt that might be gray or light blue, it was hard to tell with the party's roving lighting scheme. It was unbuttoned enough to show off the top of his collarbone. Something _pulsed_ in her at that. 

Tilly handed her another drink. She didn't protest this one, just drank it down. 

A knowing look in her eye, Tilly said, "Wonderful. Let's go say hi."

Michael shook her head, rooted to the spot. She tipped her head toward Pike. "He already has company."

"Doesn't count." Off Michael's frown, Tilly elaborated: "Nhan prefers the female of the species." 

Michael looked at her, incredulous. "How do you _know_ everything?"

"I talk a lot and people tell me things back. It's a remarkably effective interrogation technique." 

"That's just an excuse after the fact."

"Yep!" Tilly said brightly. "But don't think I missed the assumption you just made about the captain and Nhan. Let's talk about why you went there."

Michael grabbed Tilly's own shot from her hand and downed it. "Let's not."

"What, you don't want to talk about how him being involved lets you off the hook, so you don't have to risk anything?"

"I can't imagine why."

"I thought you wanted to try," Tilly said, frowning. She waved a hand at what Michael was doing: "This is...looking for excuses to ignore how you feel."

"I've never needed excuses for that," she shot back, then snapped her mouth shut, realizing what she'd said. The room was feeling a little wobbly, now that she thought about it. 

She maybe shouldn't have had three shots in quick succession. 

Tilly stared at her, wide-eyed. "Or we could talk about that."

Michael opened her mouth to put her off again—

And Detmer and Owo appeared, both wearing civilian clothes, grinning at Michael. "You came!" Detmer said, delighted. 

"I dragged her," Tilly corrected, shooting a look at Michael that said their conversation wasn't over.

"Whatever gets it done," Owo said, handing Michael one of the two suspiciously-blue drinks she'd brought. 

Michael took it automatically, relief sweeping through her that she wouldn't actually have to talk more about her feelings. She took a sip...and then peered at it, considering. "Are you guys trying to get me drunk?"

"No," Detmer said just as Owo said, "Yes."

Detmer turned to Owo, glaring, like she shouldn't have said that. "Jo!"

"What? No need to lie about it. If she realizes we're fun, maybe she'll socialize with us more."

Michael softened, looking among the three of them. "It's not because of you guys."

"Oh, no, we get it; your life has been kinda messed-up and you have weird ideas about propriety." Michael blinked as Detmer looked down to her own empty, purple-stained glass, setting it aside carefully. "Okay, gonna pull back on those."

Owo toasted with her own drink. "To messed-up childhoods!" She tossed it back, then grabbed Michael's hand and pulled her to the edge of the dance floor, Michael's drink spilling along the way. Detmer and Tilly laughed and followed behind. 

Michael protested, trying to pull away. "No no no. That is not happening."

Owo just grinned and held on. "Where I grew up, they banned dancing. Come be a rebel with us, Michael." Smiling, Michael let herself be pulled into the throng, the four of them jumping and twirling to the music. 

The room pulsed with it, lights flashing, and Michael knew there was no way she'd be doing this without the heady buzz of alcohol...but when she and Tilly stumbled into each other for the fourth time and couldn't stop laughing, she didn't regret it. There was something to feeling this...free.

Abruptly, Detmer and Owo stepped close, no longer dancing, pulling the two of them aside, Detmer saying brightly: "We should check out the next room."

"What?" Michael asked, not following. Detmer looked at Tilly for a long beat, something passing between them, but Tilly just shook her head, confused. Unconsciously, Detmer's eyes flicked behind them toward the door. 

Both Tilly and Michael turned—

And found Ash, arm in arm with Nilsson, who smiled at something he said. They looked good together, both tall and lithe, comfortable in each other's personal space. It clearly wasn't a new connection. 

Michael blinked, startled. But once the surprise passed, she realized...it didn't sting. There was something melancholy about seeing him look at someone else like that, but it was also tinged with all the hurt and betrayal and pain she'd gone through because of him, the same echoes she felt every time she looked at him, no matter how hard she tried to forget. 

They were over. And while some part of her regretted that she and the Ash she thought she knew never had a chance, that was reality. Their relationship had been poisoned before they ever even met. And now he was moving on. Maybe so was she. It was a good thing. 

Tilly talking to Detmer and Owo pulled her attention back: "Guys, it's fine."

Michael clocked their twin dubious expressions, sudden understanding sweeping through her. They thought she'd be upset and were trying to protect her. 

She found herself suddenly fond, appreciating them. "It's all right. Really."

Detmer and Owo both looked to Tilly again, like they needed more confirmation. "Michael's super over it," Tilly said, reassuring. 

Finally, they relaxed, accepting that. Michael looked at them askance. "You'll believe her over me?"

Detmer shrugged. "You have every reason to do the 'I'm fine' thing. She doesn't."

"I don't—"

"You really do," Owo cut in, nodding.

"But we're not doing that tonight because we're all great!" Tilly proclaimed. "Michael and I are gonna get a drink. Later," she said, pulling Michael away and beelining toward the bar. 

Michael was still stuck on the 'I'm fine' thing. "It's not a bad thing to keep one's own counsel," Michael said, vaguely incensed, the room tilting around her a bit. She steadied herself with an elbow on the bar, looking at Tilly: "Why does no one appreciate a little discretion?" 

"No clue. Drink this," Tilly said, handing her a bright orange something. 

Michael threw it back, making a face, but really needed this to be understood. "Just because I don't go around talking about my feelings all the time—"

"Hey, Captain," Tilly said, bright and innocent. 

Michael closed her mouth, argument instantly derailed by thoughts of him, heat already starting to build under her skin. She suddenly wished she wasn't drunk for this, even if it did muffle the awkwardness and make everything seem...easier. 

Not him, though. Nothing about him seemed easy. 

Michael turned to see Pike arrive, a tumbler of something amber in hand, charming half-smile in place. "Good evening, ladies. You both look lovely."

"Don't we?" Tilly shot back baldly, stepping away to show off her dress, then wave to Michael's. "Michael tried to argue with me about the green, but I think it really complements her skin tone. Thoughts?"

Before he could say anything, Michael looked to Pike with a frozen smile. "Please don't encourage her."

Pike laughed and held up his hands, no threat here. "I never get between friends."

" _There's_ an image," Tilly said, suggestive. Then she brightened. "Oh, look, Rhys. See ya!" And she handed Michael her drink and sailed off, leaving her alone with Pike. 

Michael stared after her, boggled that she would toss sex into the middle of their conversation and then _leave her behind_. 

Pike just shook his head, amused. "Oh, to be young and shameless."

Michael huffed a laugh. "I wouldn't know."

Pike clinked her glass with his, smiling wryly. "To traditionalist upbringings."

"The gift that keeps on giving," Michael muttered, sipping whatever pink thing Tilly had gotten and feeling the spreading warmth of his eyes on her, his presence so close. But she didn't know what to _do_ about it. 

Pike smiled and tilted his head in acknowledgment of that. He started to say something, but then his attention got caught—

By Ash and Nilsson walking by, hand in hand now. The room slowed, quieted, as Ash met her eyes and nodded, acknowledging what this was, not hiding it. Michael appreciated him being upfront, nodding back. Then they disappeared into the crowd on the dance floor and everything sped back up; Michael suddenly realized the music was a bit loud. 

She felt the prickling on her skin of someone watching and looked over. Pike studied her, measuring. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Where to even begin," he said, light, kind. 

"I am an adult. We're both being adults," she said primly, reaching to set her now-empty glass down—

Only she let go too soon, the glass falling—

Until Pike caught it with a fumbled, "Whoa." He smiled and set the glass on the bar, Michael blinking and trying to track what just happened. 

"You have quick hands," she said without thought, suddenly imagining those hands on her body. And like that, she _wanted_ , the heat of it flushing through her. He would be so good, patient and thorough. She _knew_ it.

"So I've been told," he murmured back, a low note to it she didn't understand. 

Michael stared at him, the way the moving lights highlighted his cheekbones. She found herself swaying close—

And then she caught herself, straightening and turning away. "I need to go."

Pike nodded, setting his own glass down. "I'll walk you to your quarters."

"No need, Captain. I'll be—" Michael took a step away from the bar and promptly lost her balance. Pike smoothly took her arm, bracing her, expression dry, the _you were saying?_ implied, but not spoken.

"My feet seem to be malfunctioning," Michael said as she looked up at him, so very close now. And warm. How was he so warm against her side?

"Yes, that's it, I'm sure," Pike blithely returned, angling them toward the door and walking her forward. "The good news is your vocabulary seems just fine."

Michael swallowed, hyper-focusing on the feel of his hands on her bare arm as they stepped into the corridor, a shiver slipping through her, the most skin-on-skin contact they'd ever shared. 

The most skin-on-skin contact she'd had with anyone since...Ash. 

She stopped abruptly, swaying a little as the corridor spun, unable to shake the pulsing heat now settling between her legs. 

"Michael?" Pike asked, looking at her with concern. 

"What? I'm fine," she said, restarting her feet, placing one in front of the other carefully. They made it onto the turbolift, Pike designating her floor, confident and commanding. 

"You know my floor?" she asked, unable to help herself. 

Pike flashed her an amused look. "I know lots of things." Michael's mouth went dry, certain that wasn't supposed to be suggestive, but now all she could think of was Pike in her bed, proving just how much he knew. 

Michael stared at his profile in the turbolift, the lights blurring her vision a little. She turned away. 

Getting drunk at a party was a juvenile idea that was totally beneath her. What was she thinking?

"I don't know about juvenile," Pike said idly, the corners of his mouth turning up. "There is merit to blowing off steam."

Michael blinked slowly as she realized that no, he had _not_ become telepathic. "Apologies, Captain, I didn't realize I said that out loud." If she couldn't even control _that_ , she should not be in his presence. That would not end well. Michael focused on pressing her lips together. 

It seemed to amuse Pike even more. "Oh, you are gonna _feel_ this tomorrow. Make sure to take an electrolyte restorative."

The turbolift dropped them off and Pike walked her the mercifully short distance to the door of her quarters, which opened automatically. He released her and she took a relieved breath as she braced herself against the blissfully-stationary metal wall. "Will you be okay on your own?" Pike asked. 

His concern warmed her further, even if it was misplaced. "I've been drunk before." She didn't want him thinking she was _that_ sheltered. 

...and then she realized why and she flushed some more. Really, caring what a man thought of her. It was undignified. 

"Still, it's unusual for you," he said, low, getting another flush of heat for knowing that. "Call Tilly if you need help."

"Oh, I'm not interrupting that." Pike frowned, seeming confused, so Michael clarified: "Tilly has a rather active social life. Unlike me, the awkward recluse." 

Pike's expression softened and Michael abruptly realized what she'd said. "That was completely inappropriate. On multiple levels. Wow, I am going to bed now."

He half-smiled, fond. "Then call me if you need something."

Before Michael knew what she was doing, she'd pressed a hand to his cheek, feeling that smile...and the prickle of stubble under her palm. "Thank you."

Pike's smile drained away as his eyes studied her, intent. "You're welcome."

Michael _flexed_ her hand against his face, enjoying the sensations swirling through her—warmth and dreaminess and above all, that _interest_ she always got around him. She _hmmed_. "You need to shave."

His lips quirked. "That happens at the end of a long night."

Michael's mind went straight to what _else_ happened at the end of a long night, shameless desire pulsing through her. "Okay. I'm going inside now."

"Goodnight, Michael."

***

Michael forced herself to eat the eggs in front of her, head down, trying not to move it too much. She felt _awful_ , her head aching and her stomach queasy. The restorative she'd gotten from Culber had taken the edge off, but hadn't cured her hangover by any means. 

How did people live like this? _Why_ did people live like this? The night had been fun enough, but there was no world in which a good time was worth this fallout. How regular partiers got anything done was totally beyond her. 

As she was forcing another bite into her mouth, she heard a low chuckle and then Pike appeared, sitting down across from her. "Good morning," he said breezily, not bothering to hide his amusement. 

"That is entirely subjective," Michael said, taking him in, fresh and ready to start the day. It was illogical to hate him for that. Completely illogical. 

He nodded to her plate. "You need something greasier than that."

"A myth that's been thoroughly debunked. So long as you're getting the basic nutrients you need, greasy food has no magical hangover restorative properties."

"I was going for the comfort food side of things, but of course you know the science," he said, something like affection in his voice. It was...distracting.

Michael shook off the effect he had on her and nodded to his empty place setting. "Aren't you eating?" 

Pike shook his head. "Nah, I just wanted to see how you were."

Michael frowned, surprised. "How'd you even know I'd be here?" 

" _Pride_ , my friend," Pike said lightly. Being called a friend struck her somewhere low, but Michael covered by raising an eyebrow in question. He flashed another half-smile. "You'd want to make sure everyone saw that you were up and at it, not hiding in your quarters or oversleeping."

Michael blinked. That was _exactly_ what she'd told herself when she had seriously considered staying in bed. Pike seemed to clock it, his eyes twinkling in vindication, before he nodded to the sleepy, mostly-empty room. "I'm sure you showed them."

"I'm setting a good example," she protested. "Besides, I didn't do anything that embarrassing." Then her mind flashed to _putting hands on the captain_ and she winced. "Except...I'm sorry, sir. I'd offer some explanation, but I really cannot fathom where my mind was."

Pike flicked a dismissive hand, the _it was nothing_ not even needing to be said. "You shoulda seen the aftermath of the time Philippa and I wrote a thirteen-point drunken manifesto, in Latin, proclaiming Starfleet's cadet fraternization policy a violation of human rights. Or something. It got a little lost in translation."

Michael grinned. "Latin?"

"Yeah, that was just pretentious. Probably my bad, but honestly, neither of us ever could remember."

Michael laughed, picturing it, young Pike and Philippa and their drunken shenanigans. Then her smile faded, grief filtering back in, as it always did when thinking of her. 

Pike seemed to pick up on it, leaning forward, looking at her with confused eyes. "Well, that took a turn."

Michael shook herself and smiled at him. "It's nothing. I just think I would have liked to see that."

"God no. I am well rid of my sloppy drunken days, thank you very much. And you can't even hold a candle to it; you're far too coherent." He stood, pleased energy hanging around him like something she could reach out and touch.

"Guess you wasted a trip," she quipped. 

Pike looked down at her through his eyelashes—and that was really just _unfair_ —before the corners of his lips lifted again. "Never a waste with you, Burnham. See you on the bridge."

And then he was gone, leaving Michael _aching_ , sucking in a breath, trying to find her equilibrium.

If only Culber had a restorative for _this._

*** 

"There you are," Tilly called, catching up to Michael and pulling her into an alcove off the main corridor. 

"Less loud, please," Michael said, her head still protesting, no matter how much water she drank. 

Tilly grinned, voice lowering. "Tough morning?"

"How are you so cheerful?" Michael accused.

Tilly waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I drank way less than you."

"Yeah, and what was that? Were you hoping I'd get drunk and jump the captain or something?"

" _Yeah_ ," Tilly said obviously. "So did you?"

"No!" Michael said, a sharp stab of pain lancing through her head. She lowered her voice. "Of course not. And even if I had, the captain never would have reciprocated given the state I was in, you know that."

Tilly waved that off, unimportant. "Sure, but what we're doing is putting the idea in his head. That's the important part."

"You couldn't have mentioned that to _me_?" Michael muttered.

"Nah, you would've gotten totally freaked out about it."

Michael started to protest...but no, she was probably right. Tilly saw her make the connection and smiled, pointing at her. "Ah, see. You know I'm right."

"About that," she acknowledged. 

"Don't worry about the captain," Tilly reassured. "I'll keep thinking. Now I gotta go help Stamets. Dinner?"

"As long as there's no alcohol."

Tilly grinned. "Lightweight," she called, heading off. 

Michael sighed. In so many ways. 

***

She started feeling better by mid-afternoon, just in time for the promised intelligence to come in, _not_ from torture, as Pike insisted, and they were off to a far-flung, uninhabited planet with an energy signature suspiciously matching one associated with the red angel. 

Michael was deep into putting together a briefing on what they knew of the planet—Class M, but otherwise not particularly notable—when the comms interrupted: "Pike to Burnham. Join me in the ready room when you have a moment."

"Aye, Captain," she said immediately. Then she paused. Normally she wouldn't think anything of it, but now, given her constant awareness of him, the specter of being alone with him made her...uneasy. 

Michael set her shoulders. She was being ridiculous. This was work, nothing more. 

***

Michael walked into the ready room, hands clasped behind her, attentive. "Something I can do for you, Captain?" Then she paused at her own words, blanching and trying to hide it. She could have chosen a less...suggestive phrasing. 

Pike didn't seem to notice, calling out: "Computer, privacy protocol." The computer chirped, the sound of the doors securing followed, and Michael stiffened. There was being alone with him and then there was being alone in private with him. 

"I once asked you not to make me chase after you for information," Pike said, something sad about him. "Turns out, I can put the pieces together just fine on my own."

Michael blinked, remembering that conversation, Pike picking up on how different Philippa was, that Michael knew more than she was saying. Her stomach dropped out as she realized that bill had come due, Pike's whole energy off, like he was already grieving his friend. But how could he possibly—

Breakfast, she realized. She hadn't policed her reaction to the mention of Philippa. She'd shown too much. And now she would have to _talk_ about it. Something painful seized up in her. She didn't like to think about it, much less anything more. It was still too...much.

"Sir?" she asked, careful. 

"Chris," he said firmly. "I'm not having this conversation as your captain, Michael. In fact, we're not having this conversation at all."

Michael swallowed. "What conversation is that...Chris?" she asked, the name sounding foreign in her mouth, but also _right_ in a way that shivered through her, that she shied from. 

"She's Terran, isn't she? I don't know why I didn't think of it before. How different she is. How brutal. Merciless. I should've known." He sounded like he was punishing himself for that a little bit. 

Michael shook her head, wanting to take that self-recrimination away...but of course she couldn't. It never disappeared, not fully. She knew that better than anyone. "It was classified. I was...surprised they didn't tell you."

"No kidding." There were levels to that, one of which was anger. Thankfully it wasn't directed at her.

Then he shook it off, looking sad again, but like he needed to know: "What happened to my friend?"

Michael gritted her teeth, not wanting to get into it, knowing it was breaking Starfleet rules...but she couldn't deny him. She wasn't that strong. "She was killed by T'Kuvma at the start of the war." 

Pike closed his eyes as it landed on him, pain flickering across his expression. 

She tried to explain. "We were both on the Klingon ship, she was fighting him off, holding her own. I tried to get to her, I fought so hard, but...I couldn't save her." Michael suddenly found her throat tight, eyes filling. It was all coming back to her—the desperation, the pain of the fight, how if she'd gotten to the phaser just one beat sooner...

Dimly, she clocked Pike's stricken look, but her focus was internal, that final terrible moment. "No one says it, they all tiptoe around it, but I know the truth: I got Philippa killed."

The room went blurry as her tears fell, reliving this wound that would never heal. It couldn't, not when it was the worst thing she'd ever done. 

Suddenly Pike— _Chris_ , her mind whispered—was there, wrapping his arms around her, making a soothing noise into her hair. "Michael, no."

Michael breathed out as his arms tightened around her, her tears soaking into his jacket, confused by the maelstrom of emotions inside her. The grief and loss and pain were familiar friends, but she didn't understand the others, the thing that made her lean into him, a sense of...support sweeping through her. Like she was deserving of comfort, of safety, of acceptance. 

Her hands curled into his jacket as she clung to that feeling. She didn't understand how it was possible, how he was doing this, or why, but all she wanted was to sink into it, even for a little while. To find some shelter from what she'd done... 

But no. That was illusory. And even if it weren't, she _didn't_ deserve it. 

"I started the war," she eventually managed, speaking into his chest. "If I hadn't done that, my mentor, your friend, she'd still be alive."

Chris squeezed his arms around her, sighing. "That war was a long time coming. You happened to be the spark, yes. But I know you. I _know_ you did everything you could."

"It wasn't enough," she admitted, small. 

"Sometimes it isn't. Sometimes you can do everything in your power and you still lose." Chris pulled back then, looking down at her. He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "But we keep trying."

She nodded, the feeling of his fingers on her skin startling her. Now was...not the time. 

Michael stepped back, pulling out of his arms, wiping her face and then clasping her hands together tightly. She cleared her throat, putting them on a more professional footing. "So you see why I'm insistent about following my captain's orders. Doing otherwise ended...badly."

Chris nodded, leaning back against his desk, mirroring her emotional shift. "And you see why I relentlessly question my superiors. Putting a Terran inside Section 31," he said, shaking his head.

Michael nodded the point. "The ways of the Admiralty...elude me sometimes."

"That's the politic version of what I'm about to go shout at Katrina."

Michael smiled a little. "I wish I could see that." There was nothing like him when he was defending Starfleet principles, righteous and right. It was one reason they all loved him. 

Chris' lips quirked, like he understood that. But then his expression smoothed out, grief settling around him again. "I'm sorry about Philippa. She was an extraordinary woman."

Michael nodded, once. "She was."

He considered her, something so soft in his gaze. "Thank you for being honest with me."

"Always." He warmed at that and Michael felt a flush starting somewhere low. She cleared her throat. "I'll get back to my station."

"Take some time if you need it," he said, low. "Computer, end privacy protocol." 

As the doors unsecured, Michael met his eyes once more. "Thank you, Captain."

She made it down the corridor, and out of sight, before she sagged against the wall, one hand coming to her mouth as she shook.

***

Michael got control of herself and finished her research, laying out a briefing for the group, wishing she didn't feel Chris' eyes on her quite so keenly. 

"Because of the abnormal energy patterns, we can't use the transporters, so we'll have to take a shuttle down. We also won't have comms."

Chris nodded. "Spock, Burnham, Nhan, with me."

Saru tilted his head at Chris in disapproval. "Sir?"

"I hear you, Saru, but if comms are out, I need to be there. These red angel missions are too sensitive to be so cut off." When Saru didn't say anything, Pike raised an eyebrow at him. "You have the admiral aboard, so for once I'm not the senior-most officer present. I leave the _Discovery_ in your capable hands."

"Yes, sir," Saru said after a moment. 

As they walked out, Nhan fell into step with Chris, shooting him a look. "You just miss piloting."

Chris shot her a sly grin. "Now does that sound like me?"

Spock snorted beside Michael, Nhan echoing it, and Chris shot a wry look to both of them. They had such an easy camaraderie between them, borne of a long history. Michael yearned to be part of it, but she couldn't, not when her mind kept flashing to the feeling of Chris' arms around her, such unexpected warmth and comfort and safety. 

She didn't know what it meant. She knew what she wanted it to be, but Chris was supportive of all his officers, he'd always made that clear. Was it just...a moment of empathy for a wounded colleague? It hadn't felt like that, but everything was being contextualized through her own desires. She could be reading everything wrong. 

Michael shot a glance to Chris as he flashed a smile at Spock, so open yet so opaque at the same time. If only she had some inkling of what was going on in his mind. 

***

Geography forced them to land some kilometers away from the energy signature, so they had to trudge through dense forest to reach it. Spock took the lead, then Chris, Michael, and Nhan taking the rear. Michael constantly scanned their surroundings, taking in the array of trees, some green, but some very much not—silver, coral, multicolored. It gave their trek a psychedelic feel, a riotous swirl that captivated, one tree to the next. To add to the eeriness, it seemed totally silent, their footsteps and the wind sweeping through leaves the only sounds in the world. 

"It doesn't appear there's any fauna on this planet. Or even insects," Michael observed, looking for any signs of either and finding none. 

"Pollination must be exclusively airborne," Spock hypothesized as they walked out into a clearing of wildflowers, each bud a different color, like a bouquet on acid. 

Michael nodded, noting their position. "The energy signature is coming from over that ridge," she said, pointing across the field and to a rising mountain range beyond. 

But as they made their way into the field, a new sound emerged, an odd, vibrating _thrum_ , something Michael felt in her chest. 

Chris held out a hand, stilling everyone, as the noise grew. He looked to them. "Anyone else got a bad feeling about that?"

Before anyone could respond, the thrum seemed to explode, like a round firing off. Energy bursts suddenly streaked through the sky, flying toward them like meteors. As the first one landed with a small concussion, Chris called out, "Take cover!"

The group dashed back for the trees, but as Chris turned, an energy burst hurtled in and hit him square in the chest, throwing him backwards. 

"Captain!" Michael called, rushing toward him as Spock and Nhan looked on from the trees. 

Michael landed by Chris' side, hands pressing to his singed uniform. "Captain?" she called, getting no response, Chris out cold. Blood pounding in her ears, she unzipped his jacket to find the shirt underneath unharmed. Confused, she ran her hands over his chest, searching for the injury—

Chris sucked in a breath, coughing. "Ow," he finally said. 

As relief swept through her, she realized that it had gone quiet around them, the energy blasts no longer raining down. Had Spock somehow neutralized the threat? 

But that wasn't her focus. Instead she breathed in, trying to control her panic, leaning over Chris. "Are you all right? Should we be worried about internal injuries?" she asked, fingers still probing him, shaking from the adrenaline. 

Chris got his hands on hers, pulling them to the center of his chest and holding them there, still. "I'm fine, Michael."

"You were _hit in the chest_ ," she said, too intense, but she couldn't stop. "You got knocked unconscious."

"I'm aware," he said dryly, a soothing note to it. "But whatever that was, I don't think it was meant to be lethal."

"I concur," Spock said from behind her. Michael registered his footsteps crunching through the gravel. She should've heard them before now, she realized hollowly. Her situational awareness had gone completely offline. 

And she was still _touching Chris_. Michael instantly pulled back, looking over to Spock, who wouldn't have missed that. Thankfully, he didn't comment, instead focusing on Chris as he sat up: "Initial scans indicate that the energy of our shuttle breaking through the atmosphere charged up a nearby planetary vortex and redirected the energy back at us."

"So not intentional, then."

"It doesn't seem that way, no. Are you all right, sir?"

"Oh, yeah, I love getting knocked on my ass," he said with a grin. 

Spock leaned down to offer him a hand up, which Chris took gratefully. "That would be the masochism, a gift of your religious education," he said with the dryness of an old joke between them. 

"With a heaping chaser of guilt and doubt. Don't knock it 'til you try it," Chris said, clapping Spock on the shoulder gratefully. 

Still trying to get a handle on her own emotional response, Michael stood with them, clinging to the science. The science she could make sense of. "If this was indeed our own reflected energy, that would imply this planet exists in a very sensitive homeostasis. We should make an effort not to introduce any more energy into their system, especially by firing our own weapons."

"Agreed," Chris said, nodding to her, thoroughly professional, for which she was grateful. "Let's regroup and consider a new approach."

***

Later, after they realized they wouldn't be able to reach the site until morning—and didn't want to risk leaving and coming back, given the planet's response to the introduction of energy—they made camp for the night. 

Michael set up her tent in short order, then seeing she'd finished before the others, took the opportunity to step away, through a brightly-colored thicket into an isolated copse of mostly gold trees. She leaned back against one of them, breathing raggedly, trying to shut down the fine tremors that were still plaguing her, even hours after she'd seen Chris fall. He was fine, joking with the others. There was no reason for this reaction. 

"Burnham?" Chris called softly, his footsteps sounding exaggeratedly loud as he neared. He was giving her warning, she realized. 

She made use of it, standing straight, pulling herself together. "Yes, Captain?"

Then he was through the thicket that surrounded this place, taking her in, eyes soft. "You okay?"

Normally she'd say she was fine. All good. Squared away. 

Instead Michael shook her head and laughed under her breath, looking away. How was _this_ fine?

Chris moved closer. "Michael?"

Her gaze landed on him, taking in the concern in his eyes, the corners of his mouth turned down. Then they drifted lower to the dark energy blast still on his uniform jacket, center mass. A kill shot, but for getting lucky. 

Swallowing against a wave of something clawing in her own chest, she moved toward him, walking right into his space and burying her head against that chest, breathing out. He smelled like earth and the faint tang of burnt fabric, but she could feel his heart beating and the way his chest moved at his sharp breath in. Proof of life. 

Chris froze for a moment, but it was brief, his arms almost instantly coming around her, holding her close. He dropped his cheek to her head, sighing. "I really am okay, Michael," he said, low and close. 

Michael shivered as comfort swept over her again, a sense of rightness, like everything would be fine so long as he kept holding her. It was completely irrational. That didn't change anything. 

Chris didn't seem inclined to move away. All of this was totally inappropriate, but instead of stopping it, he was cradling her, his touch soft, but sure. "Talk to me," he murmured. 

She raised her head and met his eyes, trying to put it into words. "When I'm being shot at, everything feels perfectly clear, what I need to do laid out in front of me like a roadmap. Certain. Obvious." Chris nodded, aware of the effect of battle stress on one's system. "But when I thought _you_ were being shot at...then I got scared." Michael shook her head and looked away, echoes of that fear flashing in her mind. 

"But I wasn't being shot at," Chris murmured, soothing, real and alive and still holding her. 

Michael dropped her forehead back to his chest. "I don't understand why this is happening."

Chris made some kind of thoughtful noise. "I do."

Michael looked up, needing to know. Chris brought a hand to her face, cradling it, unbearable tenderness in his eyes. "I think we've been working our way toward this for a while," he said, low. 

Michael's breath caught as he stroked her cheek with his thumb, gaze heated. She'd wanted to know what he was thinking and here he was, telling her by making a move, acknowledging what was between them. 

His expression lit something in her, her whole body waking up to the fact that she was in his arms and she _wanted_ him, right here, right now. A little tilt of his head and Michael realized he was going to kiss her. He was giving her fair warning again, one she had no intention of taking. His lips quirked up, just slight, and he pressed forward—

"Captain?" Spock called out, relatively close. 

Adrenaline shot through her at their imminent discovery. And by Spock, _of course_. A different kind of heat flushed through her, embarrassment vying for dominance over all the endless want. 

Chris paused, his mouth a hairsbreadth from her own, his smile turning wry. Then he pulled back, letting her go and stepping away entirely, taking all his warmth with him.

Michael missed it instantly. 

"Over here, Spock. We were just on our way back." Matching word to deed, Chris strode away, shooting a warm glance back to make sure she followed. 

After a beat, she did. 

***

They set up a watch schedule and bunked down. Spock took first watch, then Michael, then Chris—the worst one, of course he insisted on taking it—and Nhan for final watch in the early morning hours. 

Michael tried to get some rest, but all she could see was Chris' eyes as he was about to kiss her, the feel of him strong and alive under her hands. She knew what he wanted now, she knew they were in sync, and yet despite the desire still distracting her, her stomach was now churning with a new emotion: fear.

He could take her apart. With his soft looks and his honor and his goodness, she could wrap herself in him—loving him, wanting him, respecting him—and losing all that would _destroy_ her. 

Ash was one thing. She loved him, yes, but it was a love borne of hardship—the two of them standing united against the Terran's evil empire, Ash her haven, her anchor, even as he struggled with his own demons. Until those demons turned out to be quite real.

Chris was something else entirely. He built her up, he bolstered her, everything about him warm and supportive. She could build a new foundation of herself with him, shoring up the parts of her that were still so damaged, but if _that_ went away...she shied from the thought. 

Now, knowing it was all real, opening herself up to him felt terrifying, impossible. And yet part of her wanted to throw caution to the wind, to revel in the heat between them, even if it burned her in the end. 

By the time her watch rolled around, Michael had gone back and forth endlessly, with no resolution. She exited her tent—

To a world ablaze with color. The trees, psychedelic in the day, had transformed at night, glowing with their own inner light. Michael stared, taking it in as she moved toward Spock, leaning against a tree that framed him in bright purple, far enough from the tents not to distract anyone sleeping. As Michael approached, she noticed one of the creeping vines twined around the tree behind him was lit up orange, pulsing with life. 

"Delayed phosphorescence," Michael murmured, touching the vine and its orange leaves, in awe. It was like something out of a dream.

"Yes. It's quite striking. We don't even need a light source for watch."

Michael smiled at the understatement, at the practicality, looking to Spock fondly. 

His eyes warmed, but after a moment his expression went speculative, serious. "You did not sleep," he said, an echo of his words from the turbolift. 

Michael shrugged.

"You have doubts," he surmised. 

"Only about myself." Off his questioning look, she continued: "I don't know if I can do it, Spock."

"The question is not can you. It is do you wish to. You have to want happiness for yourself."

"Of course I—the downsides just seem too great."

"You are not uncomfortable with risk," he dismissed. "This is a question of will. So why do you think you shouldn't be happy?"

That struck Michael, making her wince. "A better question is why do you think I deserve it at all," she muttered. 

Spock breathed in. He nodded, once. "Now we are at the heart of the matter. You think your actions are unforgivable."

Michael shook her head at him. "Thousands of people died. Philippa died right in front of me. My actions were _objectively_ unforgivable."

"Starfleet has forgiven you. Your crew has forgiven you. Refusing to accept it as legitimate is childish."

Michael blinked, startled. This was not the tack she thought he'd take. "Childish?"

"Yes. We are not defined by the worst things we've ever done, Michael. We have the capacity for more. You're a good person who made a bad decision. You deserve forgiveness. You deserve happiness. You deserve love." He looked at her evenly, devastatingly direct. "And if it were otherwise, I would tell you." 

Michael trembled. Half of her wanted to rail at him for being so dismissive. The other half quaked at absolution from the brother she thought would hate her forever.

But Spock wasn't done yet. "Now, your useless self-flagellation kept you blind to your attraction to the captain. It may have skewed your perspective in other ways. It's time to get over it and embrace your life. You only have the one."

With that, he nodded to her and walked off toward his tent, leaving Michael reeling, too many thoughts slamming into her at once—her brother was an _ass_. It wasn't that simple. She wasn't making it all about herself, _she wasn't_. 

...was she?

***

Chris stretched as he exited his tent, bringing Michael's focus to the line of his body, a low _pulse_ heating through her. He looked like he'd actually slept a few hours. Good for him. 

Michael doubted she would be so lucky. She'd spent the whole of watch going round and round on Spock's words, on her own feelings, leaving her nowhere, mind a muddle. 

She probably needed to sleep. It might help bring clarity. 

Chris approached her, wondrously taking in the still-lit forest, a tiny, pleased smile on his face. Michael found herself charmed by it, the hint of the explorer surfacing. It called to something in Michael, the part of her that delighted in exploring new worlds, boldly going where no one had gone before. 

"Phosphorescence, huh? Wild," he murmured, enraptured by an endless forest in endless color. 

And like that, she realized she was being an idiot. He was a good, honorable, thoughtful man who made her blood sing and was genuinely delighted by luminescent trees. Why in the hell was she questioning that?

Michael stepped close, pulling his attention from their surroundings, his gaze going alert and focused on her. The tree behind her cast a purple glow on him, but he was backlit by a stunning sweep of aqua branches, a confused mishmash of colors that was somehow perfect. 

She pressed her hand to the burn mark on his jacket, right over his beating heart. Chris closed his own hand over hers and held it there, smiling slightly, but he didn't move to reassure her again.

"You should've given Spock the third watch," she finally said. He deserved a little punishment. 

Amusement flashed across his face. "Have a nice heart to heart with your brother, did you?"

Michael took him in, the luminescence lighting up his eyes, making them almost glow. "I suppose he has his uses." Then she pressed close, leaning up for his mouth. 

Chris met her halfway, his lips sliding over hers, light, before doing it again, deeper, his mouth catching hers and holding there as his arms curled around her. 

Heat swamped Michael again as she buried a hand in his hair, kissing him back, little nips at his mouth that made him smile, one hand cupping her jaw to angle her perfectly before diving back in, his mouth lush and skilled. 

She had never been kissed like this, like kissing was the point, not a prelude. Chris seemed to revel in pressing his mouth to hers, lips clinging, separating, and clinging again. 

Sparks zipped through her, settling low, as she breathed in against his mouth, relaxing into his arms, hand at his jaw, feeling the hint of stubble again. She had...no idea it could be like this, the sharing of taste and breath and so much warmth. She floated on the feeling, the rest of the world seeming to dim. 

Michael pressed closer, sending him swaying back, right into the tree behind him, the impact startling them apart. She moved to take his mouth again, but Chris grabbed hold of her hands and held her fast, gentle, but firm. "Michael," he said, low, voice rough, sending a shiver of want through her. 

He clocked that, his eyes darkening further, but Chris didn't move, other than to shake his head and try again: "We're on duty, Michael. On an away mission on an unexplored planet."

Cold washed over her instantly, Michael breathing out as her senses came back to her. It was...not appropriate to jump your captain in the middle of a mission. Not even when he looked like that. 

Michael cleared her throat and nodded as Chris straightened up from the tree. He took one of her hands, still in his grip, and brought it up to his mouth. "Hold that thought," he murmured, his lips brushing over her knuckles and sending another flare of heat through her. 

That was...not fair. 

She raised her eyes to his. "I'll just go think about you in my tent," she said, low, watching as it landed, Chris' eyes widening minutely and then clouding over with lust. 

Michael turned and walked off before she did anything she'd regret.

***

Now that she'd decided to go for it, Michael wanted to _go for it_. What had been nagging low-level arousal spiraled into full-blown lust, stealing her ability to focus. It was so distracting she barely even minded that the sum total of their red angel mission amounted to, 'the red angel was here a long time ago, who knows?' The entire shuttle ride home was consumed by him, her eyes drifting toward the back of his head as he piloted the shuttle, snapping away, and drifting back again. 

It was unseemly. 

As they stepped off the shuttle ramp, Chris turned to them. "Everyone take twelve hours, get some rest. Send me your reports by morning."

"Aye, Captain," they all chorused, separating as they headed toward their quarters. 

...all except for Michael, who doubled-back to join Chris in his turbolift. He looked to her, gaze full of promise. "They say that tenacity is the key to success."

Michael tilted her head at him. "Let's test that."

Chris shot her a heated look as the turbolift slowed, the two of them walking in charged silence the rest of the way to his quarters. 

Michael barely let the doors slide shut behind her before she was grabbing Chris' arm, turning him and planting him against the wall, her mouth claiming his, hot and open. 

Chris groaned into the kiss, hands landing on her hips and hauling her close enough to feel him everywhere. 

Michael bit his bottom lip and moaned, arching against him, the uniform pants hiding absolutely nothing of his stirring erection. 

He broke away on a gasp, tearing in a ragged breath, hands starting to work at her clothes. "I've been thinking about this ever since you put hands on me."

Michael leaned in to nibble at his chin as she unzipped his jacket and shoved it off his shoulders. "I blame the trees. I got distracted."

"I meant after the party," he said with a breathy laugh. "You looked like you were about three seconds from hauling me into your room."

"Your fault with your quick hands," she breathed into his mouth. "I kept thinking about them on me. I worried I was going to say something."

Chris made an unidentifiable noise and kissed her again, tongue twining with hers as he propelled her back toward the bedroom, both of them losing clothes. 

When they hit the bed, there was so much more skin to explore, Michael feeling drunk with it, scratching her nails down the muscles of his arms, licking at the faint pink lines left behind. 

Chris groaned and rolled her onto her back, sucking a nipple through her black bra, the sudden heat making her gasp. He worked on the clasp as he nibbled on her stomach, sending delightful shivers through her. "If you were thinking that then, why'd it take so long to get here?"

"Doesn't matter," Michael said, luxuriating in the heat of him on top of her, his erection pressing into her. 

Chris stilled and leaned up, tilting his head at her like he sensed something. 

"Doesn't matter right now," she corrected, hand around his neck tugging him back down. 

Chris nodded, accepting that. "We'll get back to it." Then he kissed her again, pulling her bra off, trailing kisses from her mouth down her neck, then moving down to lave at a nipple, soft, before scraping it with his teeth. Michael's whole _body_ vibrated with pleasure. 

Michael gasped as he breathed _out_ against her skin, making her squirm, wet and wanting. "You are...really good at that," she panted.

Chris looked at her a little oddly, mouth quirking up as he trailed light fingers from her breast, down her stomach, to trace the edge of her panties. "You ain't seen nothing yet." His mouth followed his hand, Chris nibbling at the waistband at her hip, seeming in absolutely no haste.

If she didn't do something, she was going to go out of her mind before they even got to the sex. 

So Michael got her fingers under the waistband and pulled the underwear off herself, Chris shifting back in surprise, eyebrow raised. "I would like you inside me," Michael stated very clearly. 

Chris smirked, moving back up to kiss her. His hand trailed up her legs, dipping in between to tease her, fingertips playing at her entrance, where she was still so obscenely wet. Then he pressed two fingers _in_ , Michael making a helpless noise into his mouth at the stretch, so close to exactly what she wanted. 

"As you wish," he said, cheeky, biting at her chin. He pulled his fingers out, then thrust back in, thumb circling her clit lazily. 

Michael's internal muscles fluttered around him, the slip-slide of pleasure up her spine stealing her thoughts for a moment. Chris kept working her, his mouth moving over her body—from her neck to her breasts to the inside of her arm, his tongue finding pleasure points she hadn't even known _existed_. 

"Chris, _please_ ," she said when she got her focus back, wanting more than she could say, shaking with it. 

He relented, pulling his fingers out of her and moving to kiss her again, grabbing hold of her leg and pushing it wide as he settled between her thighs. He broke their kiss to look in her eyes as he sank into her, even though Michael couldn't help but throw her head back and gasp. 

"You are so perfect," he murmured against her throat, thrusting into her in earnest, filling her up exquisitely, nerve endings tingling. 

"All I could think about on that planet was you in your tent, thinking about me," he breathed, kissing back up to her mouth. "Touching yourself."

Michael shook her head. "I didn't," she gasped, hands digging into his back as his thrusts hit something inside her perfectly, muscles going tight. 

"Good," he breathed, sucking on her earlobe, hand moving between them to tease her clit again as he kept driving into her. "I want to make you come."

That was _enough_ for her, everything going white-hot and intense as her orgasm crested, pleasure singing through her as her body fluttered around Chris. His fingers never faltered even as he groaned and jerked inside her. 

He mercifully slowed his hand as the aftershocks shuddered through her, finding her mouth again and kissing her, open and soft. Michael kissed him back, hazily satisfied, marveling at him a little. No one else had kissed her after. 

Eventually, Chris pulled out of her, rolling to her side. Michael relaxed back, catching her breath, body humming. She closed her eyes, startled when Chris started trailing kisses down her shoulder, fingers tracing patterns across her stomach. 

She looked over at him, confused. Chris looked at her oddly again. "Oh, we're not done," he said, seeming far too composed for a man who just came. 

Michael flicked her eyes down to where he was definitely no longer hard, then back up again. "We're not."

He regarded her. "You and I seem to have different ideas about the...breadth of sex." He smiled a little. "Let's explore."

***

Later, after he kissed and licked and nibbled his way all over her, coaxing her through two more spine-tingling orgasms and one set of sweat-soaked sheets, they collapsed next to each other, Michael finally _getting_ some of the passing comments other women had made about sex over the years. As well as the true depth of the phrase, "thoroughly spent."

Chris didn't seem inclined to move, touching her idly, not trying to turn her on again, just quiet, like he wanted the connection. While she'd always hated cuddling, this didn't feel like that always had. She arched into his touch, satisfaction thrumming through her. She might never leave this bed. 

"Did Spock say something to you?" Chris asked eventually, fingertips tracing a lazy figure eight along her back. 

"Many, many things," Michael said, dry. "Why? Did he say something to you?"

Chris shifted, something uncomfortable in it. Michael pressed a hand to his shoulder, stilling him, looking into his eyes. "What'd he say?"

He looked a little abashed. "He suggested I stop showing favoritism and just do something already."

Michael smiled, wry. If she knew Spock, that conversation would have been both awkward and pointed. "And what did you say?"

"To mind his own damn business. And that I was waiting for you to...decide," he added carefully.

Michael softened. Of course he'd been waiting for her to figure it out, to decide what she wanted and let him know. He would never have made the first move. 

Then what he was saying really _landed_. Michael covered her face with her hands. "Oh, I just realized something terrible."

Chris turned on his side and looked down on her, smiling. "What?" 

She shook her head for another moment, trying to lose the thought...but no, it would not be denied. 

Finally, she dropped her hands and looked at him: "My brother got me laid." She swallowed. "My parents will be so proud."

Chris laughed and wrapped a hand around her waist. His fingers trailed over her arm, smile slipping, something considering appearing in its place. "It's a little more than just getting laid, though, right?" he asked, soft.

Michael pressed careful fingers to the corner of his eye, where the promise of a smile lived. "Yeah. A little more than that."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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